


A Term of Endearment

by gingertart50



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hoggywartyxmas, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 02:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9299366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingertart50/pseuds/gingertart50
Summary: Snape always wanted to be left in peace during the holidays, but when did he ever get what he wanted? Although maybe this Christmas, he’ll get what he actually needs.PG, for naughty words, innuendo, adult themes and Hogwarts professors acting (mostly) like adults.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Hoggywartyxmas 2016, for alisanne.  
> Warnings: Hints of m/f and m/m sexual shenanigans, minor angst and just a sprinkling of fluff. DH compliant apart from the circumvention of a minor inconvenience or two (and who cares about the epilogue anyway? It’s Christmas!)  
> Disclaimer: Not mine, never were, nor is the money, alas.  
> Prompt - Character X wants a quiet holiday, but their friends won't let them have one. I aimed for this prompt but it took rather longer than I expected to get there. A certain grumpy Hogwarts professor had his own ideas about what constituted a holiday and who was I to argue?

1982  
  
Minerva knew why Dumbledore had employed the Snape boy, or at least, why Albus _said_ he had. She knew what he had told the rest of the Hogwarts staff, and had her suspicions about what he had told Snape. Even so, there must have been more to Snape than met the eye, otherwise why would Albus Dumbledore have employed a surly, antisocial young man with so little aptitude for teaching, however clever he was? She took the trouble to observe the Death Eater in the dungeon, and rather to her surprise, she began to see aspects that Albus, for all his seeming omnipotence, did not. Albus saw in him what he expected to see, and what Snape carefully displayed for him. Snape must have assumed that she was the archetypal Gryffindor, obtuse or indifferent, because he allowed his assumed persona to slip in her presence on occasion. The young man beneath the bitter carapace was no more pleasant that one he displayed to the world, but there was something vulnerable about him, something idealistic, hurt and lonely. He interested her; he had depth of character. He reminded her a little of her younger self.  
  
At Halloween, Hogwarts held a feast at which the students and staff celebrated the first anniversary of Voldemort’s downfall. Minerva remarked rather tartly that it was ironic how His death was commemorated while all the other deaths went unacknowledged, at which Dumbledore gazed soberly at her, twinkle temporarily dimmed.  
‘They’re children, my dear. Let them have a party, they’ll have time enough for reflection and grief when they’ve left us for the wider world. Let them remember their days at Hogwarts as a happy time, hm? We shall revere our dead for them and allow the young ones to have their fun.’  
  
At the far end of the table, Hogwart’s youngest professor stared down into his goblet, his face set into a cold mask and the food untouched on his plate. Minerva and the Headmaster noticed his mood and for once, Albus did not try to jolly Snape out of his funk. Only after Snape had brusquely excused himself at the earliest possible moment, did Minerva recall that he had been the rather unlikely friend of Lily Evans before her marriage put an end to the relationship.  
  
Snape disappeared to wherever he went, and Minerva had her work cut out to settle her cubs down after the consumption of far too much sugar and, in the upper years, illicit alcohol. Pomona and Argus took patrol duty. Albus was ensconced in his ivory tower and Minerva felt edgy. She prowled the castle, eventually exiting through a back door charmed to open only for elves and Hogwarts staff. Wrapped in a travelling cloak and her hat firmly pinned in place, she strode down the hill into Hogsmeade.  
  
Celebrations were still underway in the Three Broomsticks, raucous laughter spilling from windows and door. She avoided the pools of lamplight and went to the dingier but considerably quieter Hog’s Head. Aberforth nodded, she nodded back and accepted a glass of Firewhisky, handing over her money in a silence that was accepting, if not quite companionable. As she picked her way to a shadowed table at the back of the bar, she noticed a lone figure in the corner. She was so unaccustomed to seeing him slouching, loose-limbed and undignified, that it was a moment before she recognised Severus Snape, one hand clenched around a greasy tumbler and the other groping for the bottle on the table.  
  
‘Snape,’ she said, disconcerted at seeing a Hogwarts professor in such a state of inebriation. Her disapproval must have been obvious even to him. He raised his head, focussing with difficulty through his stringy hair, and bared his teeth in a sneer. He considered her for a moment before speaking.  
  
‘Fuck off, McGonagall.’ His enunciation was as precise as ever, his expression recklessly defiant, but his eyes were bleak.  
  
She was no Legilimens but Minerva knew something of human nature. Snape expected her to scold him and report his behaviour to Albus. He was very young, horribly depressed, and he believed that she was a strait-laced old biddy who would be offended enough to have him dismissed from his job. She was damned if he was going to use her as an excuse to run away from his responsibilities. She sniffed, pulled out a chair and sat down on the other side of the rickety table.  
  
‘Fuck off yourself, Snape.’ She reached for the bottle and topped up her glass as he gaped at her.  
  
Neither spoke after that, each immersed in memories, although Minerva drank considerably less than he thought she did. Someone had to steer him back to the castle, after all.

1987  
  
Minerva knew that whether or not Albus approved of Snape going on his annual bender, the Headmaster had no objection to her ensuring that the Head of Slytherin returned safely to the castle, with the incidental advantage that she would take care of any problems should the spy, off his head on cheap Firewhisky, say something that he should not. To some extent Albus facilitated the event; neither was ever on night patrol at Halloween. Every year, Snape disappeared after the feast, she followed him to the Hog’s Head and he greeted her the same way. After a couple of years, he told her to fuck off with a glint of sardonic humour in his black eyes. She never urged him to talk. Sometimes he did, a little, and she would make bracing but supportive noises and left it at that.  
  
Five years after his arrival at Hogwarts as a professor, he stunned her by appearing at her door on the night when she was in the habit of commemorating her own greatest loss. He held out his hands in silence, presenting her with a vial of Dreamless Sleep, a hangover potion and a half-bottle of Old Ogden’s. She stared at him, her mouth open in a soundless gasp of astonishment and he cocked his head, as if unaccountably waiting for the thanks that he usually eschewed. Then she understood. Blinking away moisture from her eyes, she whispered ‘Fuck off, Snape,’ and he nodded, breathed ‘Fuck off yourself, McGonagall,’ and whirled away in a flurry of robes.  
  
No-one on the staff would have informed Snape of the date of the death of her Muggle childhood sweetheart and his family – she doubted that anyone apart from Albus even knew. She wondered how Snape had found out, then decided that she would rather live in ignorance. The past was, indeed, a different country.

1991  
  
The year Harry Potter arrived at Hogwarts was bound to be traumatic. By Halloween, Snape was strung as tight as a piano wire, she could almost see him vibrating with tension and that was before the incident of the troll in the dungeon. She followed him down to the Hog’s Head prepared for a spectacular Snape binge and was intrigued to find him still upright, his eyes vigilant. She slid into her accustomed seat at the shadowy table and he pushed a bottle in her direction with a muttered ‘Fuck off, McGonagall.’  
  
‘Fuck off, Snape. Single malt? You’re moving up-market.’  
  
‘I’m a bloody spy, aren’t I?’ he said morosely. ‘I can’t afford a Firewhisky hangover tomorrow, not with things moving in the direction that they are.’  
  
She sipped appreciatively, trying to ignore the dirty streaks on Aberforth’s tumblers. Snape refilled his glass, his eyelids gradually sliding lower as the alcohol took effect. He shifted on the uncomfortable wooden seat and asked, as if following a conversational thread that she had failed to detect, ‘Does he know?’  
  
‘I’m sorry, Severus? Does who know what?’  
  
‘Albus.’ Snape settled back with his arms crossed on his chest, his posture defensive and slightly belligerent. ‘He doesn’t know, does he?’  
  
He could not be talking about the Dark Lord; Albus knew more about that subject than anyone. Minerva felt a chill run over her skin. How the devil had the socially inept Severus Snape discerned her little secret?  
  
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’  
  
He snorted. ‘Oh come off it, Minerva. Spy, remember? The old sod’s entirely oblivious.’  
  
‘The old sod’s entirely homosexual, you mean.’ Normally tight-lipped and loyal to her boss, Minerva startled herself by letting slip that morsel of gossip, but Snape simply nodded.  
  
‘You’d be wise to ensure that he never knows exactly how much you regret the direction of his proclivities.’  
  
‘Thank you for your unsolicited advice, but my sex-life or lack of it is entirely my own affair.’  
  
Snape raised his glass with an ironic smirk. ‘He’d only use it against you in the end. Besides, I wasn’t talking about sex, was I?’  
  
‘Good.’  
  
‘Although pragmatic sex is far safer than _unrequited love_.’ He imbued the phrase with derision, his lip curling. Had she not known him so well, she would have been offended, but his contempt was for himself, not for her or the yearning that had grown from her school-girl crush.  
  
‘I hope that you don’t say that to your Slytherins.’  
  
‘Why not? The reality of it is that they’ll act upon their hormonal urges anyway. I advise them to take the appropriate precautionary measures and they are very aware that pregnancy or sexually transmitted infections will incur my displeasure.’  
  
‘Which is mild, for members of your house.’  
  
‘They have learned not to disappoint me.’  
  
‘Bully for them.’ The whisky must be getting to her; she sounded petty even to herself.  
  
He gazed at her with those impenetrable black eyes and asked in his silky voice, ‘But Minerva, if I don’t stand up for the little buggers, who the hell will?’  
  
She conceded the point, raising her glass to him. He took a swallow of whisky. ‘Not that there’s much chance of a sex-life anyway, living in a boarding school under the eye of that twinkly old perv,’ he muttered.  
  
It was her turn to snort. ‘That’s what you think.’  
  
‘Really?’ His tone implied total disbelief.  
  
‘Albus’ mind is upon higher matters. He’s far too busy worrying about the Ministry, the Wizengamot and the return of the Dark Lord to concern himself with what happens between his staff members in their time off. As long as the students know nothing about it, both he and I leave well alone.’  
  
Snape appeared to be staring into his whisky but she realised that his eyes were unfocussed, intent upon his thoughts. ‘Silvanus Kettleburn and Pomona Sprout seem too unlikely a pairing but I assume that there was more to the relationship than met the eye?’  
  
‘Pomona broke it off as a result of his reckless behaviour but they remain friends.’  
  
‘Filch and Pince, of course, and… Hooch and Pomfrey?’  
  
‘Now you’re just indulging in the gossip that you profess to despise.’  
  
‘While you’re always so prim and proper, Professor Iron-knickers.’  
  
There was a challenge in his heavy-lidded gaze that she had never seen before, no doubt fuelled by the Islay single malt.  
  
‘You’re not too old for a spanking, young man.’  
  
‘I should be so lucky.’  
  
There followed one of those moments when she felt in perfect balance, poised at the juncture of two diverging paths. Snape was cantankerous and distrustful, she was under no illusions as to how dangerous he could be, but their interactions made her feel focussed and on her mettle. He dared her to match him for speed and intellect and power.  
  
‘That’s enough, I’m going back to the castle,’ she said and the corners of his lips twitched.  
  
‘As you wish, Professor. I might as well accompany you.’  
  
They were of an equal height and Minerva’s sensible boots enabled her to match his stride, so they fell naturally in step. They exchanged inconsequential remarks about the prospects for the Quidditch season. She wondered if he was vacillating as much as she was, her Gryffindor nature urging her to damn the consequences, while her more professional side advocated caution.  
  
He turned upon her suddenly, his robes swirling in the way that always made her suppress a smile. He was as much a drama queen as Albus.  
  
‘No strings attached,’ he said. ‘Carpe diem.’  
  
‘Carpe noctem,’ she corrected him. He laughed, and the sound of it, masculine and ironic and wicked, made the decision for her.  
  
‘You’d better come upstairs,’ she said, well aware that his heart, like hers, was engaged elsewhere.

1998  
  
Being a frugal Scot from a Presbyterian background, Minerva McGonagall did not allow herself many indulgences. She might raise a toast in an appropriate beverage upon occasion, or succumb to the lure of a shortbread finger or ginger newt, but in general, she lived a fairly ascetic life. She did however appreciate the luxury of a large and comfortable bed and, as Headmistress, the largest, cosiest bed in the whole of Hogwarts was hers by right. She lay in it, staring up at the canopy, waiting for her heartrate to slow back to something approaching normal.  
  
It had been a particularly unpleasant nightmare and that was saying something. Patrolling the school in her cat-form, she had come across the Carrows in a disused corridor. They were torturing a young house elf – or at least, that was her first assessment of the situation. In the skewed logic of dreams, she knew that she must not reveal herself as a spy (as if everyone in the Wizarding world was not already aware of her Animagus form!) and so could only watch, horrified, as the siblings began to consume the elf alive. Accustomed to kindness or at the worst, indifference from witches and wizards, the little creature whimpered plaintively as they wielded their knives and forks. She fled, seeking out the Headmaster, but Albus was already dead and gone. Snape coldly informed her that he had instructed Amycus to suffocate the elf with a pillow before consumption and he would assign detention if his guidelines had been disregarded.  
  
‘Severus,’ she whispered into the darkness, ‘how could you bear it?’ She Transformed, leaped down from the high bed, and curled into a ball upon the hearthrug. In daylight hours she could convince herself that superstitions were for Muggles and that she was a logical and confident witch, but at three in the morning, she was terribly aware that the last two occupants of the Headmaster’s bed had been murdered.  
  
Eventually she returned to human form, threw on an old robe and descended to the castle that she loved. She walked corridors rendered in stark monochrome by the wash of moonlight. She nodded greetings to the portraits who paused to watch her pass, and she felt more like a ghost than a witch. She wondered if she would ever recover from all the losses she had endured.  
  
Minerva deliberately refrained from seeking comfort from Albus’ portrait. He spoke in platitudes. So did the original, but she had been one of the few people who could push past the glib assurances and confront the real wizard beneath, the wizard with fears and flaws like anyone else, the wizard who had been her friend for so many years. His portrait was as shallow as a photograph, an Albus caught in a single moment of time, all surface and no substance. She wondered if Severus’ portrait, when – or if – it ever appeared, would feel as two-dimensional.  
  
Ah, Severus, she hardly dared to speak or think about Severus Snape, except in the most practical of ways; where to hold the funeral service and if his memorial should be at Hogwarts or at the remains of the Shrieking Shack. Both had their appeal, but she had known her colleague well enough to understand that he would have wished for neither. Severus Snape, in the end, had surely desired only anonymity and peace.  
  
Something trembled in her chest whenever she thought of Snape, a quivering of nerve and muscle that would, if she allowed it, emerge as a wail of grief. She had hated him for Albus’ death, her rage and her sense of betrayal all the more profound because she had inadvertently grown so fond of the lad. She had been one of the few who appreciated his astringent asides and his wicked, dry-as-dust humour, but most of all, she had respected his ability as a wizard. She realised that it was his incredible focus and concentration that made him so impressive, and his example, however flawed, encouraged her to work on harnessing her own power more effectively. Knowing what she knew now, having watched the memories that Snape bequeathed to Potter, she was in awe of his courage and loyalty, and the cunning that had deceived even her. One day, she would allow herself the time to truly mourn him, but not yet, for there was too much still to do.  
  
She was first to breakfast as usual, taking her place as the scent of freshly-baked bread wafted up from the kitchens. Pots of tea and coffee appeared on the table; she poured tea and awaited the arrival of porridge, toast and kippers.  
  
When her name was called in an urgent voice, she braced herself to tackle the first of the day’s problems. ‘Yes, Filius?’  
  
Flitwick hurried in through the staff entrance, his usually good-natured face creased into a frown. ‘Draco Malfoy’s here to speak to you, Minerva. He refuses to tell me what it’s about and won’t wait until later.’ He stopped next to her chair, his frown deepening. ‘He appears particularly frayed around the edges, for a Malfoy.’  
  
Minerva sighed, took a deep swallow of her tea and stood up. If the visitor had been Harry or Neville, she would have gone to them without a second thought. Unless her speeches about reconciliation meant nothing, she surely owed the same consideration to the young prince of Slytherin.  
  
‘Thank you, do keep an eye on the builders in my absence and don’t let anyone get too carried away with the renovations budget.’  
  
‘I’ll even save you a bacon sandwich,’ he said magnanimously, hopping up onto his deputy’s seat next to her chair.  
  
Malfoy did indeed appear careworn, although he straightened his spine as she strode into her office. He gave her a slight nod of greeting which she returned.  
  
‘Well, Mr Malfoy, are you here to tell me that you’re returning to Hogwarts for your final year?’ She rather hoped that he would not, and mentally berated herself for the thought. The question took him by surprise, he blinked at her before shaking his head.  
  
‘Headmistress,’ he said, his voice cool, ‘I request that you accompany me to Malfoy Manor, at once, to deal with a matter of considerable importance to the school.’  
  
‘And why should I do that?’ She took her seat behind the desk, trying not to let her irritation show. Did he take her for a fool?  
  
Malfoy took a steadying breath and she realised that ‘frayed around the edges’ was an understatement.  
  
‘My father is in Azkaban for the foreseeable future,’ he said, and she could sense the effort he took to keep his voice level and steady, ‘My mother was taken to the Ministry two days ago and I’m allowed no contact with her. She could be undergoing interrogation, already in Azkaban, or dead, for all I know. An acquaintance of my father’s owled me a warning that I’m next on the list. There’s something I must arrange before the Manor is raided again, and it concerns Hogwarts.’  
  
‘You’ll have to give me more than this, Mr Malfoy. I don’t leave Hogwarts on a whim.’  
  
‘Bring someone with you,’ he said, and now she could hear desperation in his voice, ‘bring Flitwick, or Sprout - bring Potter, if you insist.’  
  
‘Why have you not approached Professor Slughorn?’  
  
‘Because you’re the Headmistress! Because you have the power to do something and because…’ he took in a deep breath, ‘because you’ll be impartial. You’ll judge the situation before you act.’  
  
‘Will I?’ she asked, wryly, and he propped his fists on the desk and leaned towards her, startling her. Up close, his short blond hair looked greasy and unwashed.  
  
‘You will,’ he said, ‘this time, Professor, you will.’  
  
Oddly enough, he said it not as a threat, but with utter conviction.  
  
‘Then tell me what you’re so concerned about.’  
  
He shook his head, waving a hand at the circle of Headmasters and Headmistresses who were openly observing the conversation. ‘It isn’t my secret to keep.’  
  
Minerva gazed at him, wondering if it was all an act to gain her compliance. Had he imbued his request with a sense of urgency to force her to take a foolish risk? Unspoken, but heavy in the air, lay the debt that she owed to Slytherin.  
  
‘What if I brought Kingsley Shacklebolt?’  
  
‘If you have time before the Aurors descend,’ he said wryly.  
  
She knew that was impossible, her own workload was nothing compared with Kingsley’s.  
  
‘Very well,’ she told him, getting to her feet, ‘I’ll accompany you with Professor Flitwick. I’ll tell my staff to alert the Aurors if they don’t hear from me within the hour. Woe betide you if anything happens to either of us.’  
  
‘Woe’s already betiding the Malfoys,’ Draco said, ‘I doubt if we’ll even notice. But I give you my word that you’ll come to no harm.’  
  
oooOOOooo  
  
Malfoy Manor made Minerva think of an anthill that had been broken open with a stick. Elves scuttled everywhere, Levitating furniture, ornaments and crockery.  
  
‘What’re they doing?’ Flitwick asked, hurrying along with his wand out. Draco scowled.  
  
‘Sending the remaining antiques to my aunt Andromeda and my father’s cousins before they get smashed.’  
  
‘Why would they be destroyed?’  
  
‘For the same reason so many valuables were smashed when my father was arrested, and when they took my mother,’ Draco said, ‘they destroy things because they can. Come this way, don’t mind the screaming skull.’  
  
The skull in question gave a high-pitched shriek as they passed. Filius flicked his wand at it, cutting off the noise. An elf laden with porcelain dishes whisked out of their path, casting a frantic glance at Draco as it passed. He stopped before a door, grasping the handle. ‘Bringing you here breaks my mother’s promise, but Gryffindors hold all the power now. Use it well, Headmistress.’ He opened the door into a sunlit bedroom.  
  
Minerva had spent years sustaining tiny flickers of optimism among deep gloom; that Harry would prevail, that Albus had actually known what he was doing, that Voldemort would make too many mistakes and that it would all work out in the end. Hope had become a habit. Another spark of hope flared up, a sudden warmth around her heart.  
  
Snape lay on his back, his black eyelashes contrasting with his sallow skin, hair stark against the bandages around his neck and shoulders. His slender hands were folded on his waist, moving with the slight rise and fall of his narrow ribcage.  
  
‘Well,’ Filius exclaimed, ‘this is a turn-up for the books!’ He peered at the familiar profile of their ex-colleague, ex-headmaster and one-time friend. ‘How splendid! No wonder his portrait never appeared.’ He cocked his head. ‘Something of a political hot potato, though.’  
  
‘That’s your problem now,’ Draco said dryly. ‘My father ordered an elf to follow Severus after he went to the Dark Lord. It put him in stasis until my mother could Apparate him to Healer Prendergast at Saint Quivox’s clinic. Here are his potions and dosage instructions. We’d intended to take him to France to recover; he’s still too weak to go anywhere alone.’  
  
‘Of course,’ Filius said, approaching the bedside. ‘He belongs at Hogwarts.’ Draco gave a little snort at that and Filius smiled. ‘I doubt if he’ll want to remain there, but it’ll be safest until he recovers. There might be something peculiarly satisfying about forcing the Ministry to choose between laying siege to the castle or admitting that a Slytherin saved all our necks.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Do you have a Portkey?’  
  
Minerva raised her wand. ‘No, that would be far too rough. _Expecto patronum!_ ’ A silver cat leaped from her wand and crouched to await her instructions. ‘Send Winky to me here.’ The cat streaked away towards Hogwarts and she replaced her wand in her sleeve. ‘An elf can Apparate an injured or unconscious person without hurting them.’  
  
‘Ah,’ Filius said sagely, ‘and through the wards, as well.’  
  
‘That’s irrelevant. He’s still the Headmaster, the wards will part for him.’  
  
Only then did she realised that she was being appraised by a pair of shrewd black eyes. When he caught her gaze, Snape’s lips moved in silence, but she read the words easily enough. She gave a little snort of amusement and relief. ‘Yes, and to you, too, Severus. Go with him, Filius.’  
  
Winky appeared beside them, her ears twitching with curiosity. Her eyes bulged when she saw Snape.  
  
‘Headmaster! You is alive!’ she squealed, clasping her hands.  
  
‘No-one at Hogwarts is to know except you, me, Professor Flitwick and Madam Pomfrey, until one of us tells you otherwise.’  
  
‘Yes, Headmistress, I is understanding. We is hiding him.’  
  
‘Take him and Professor Flitwick straight to the infirmary, please, and be gentle.’  
  
Draco watched warily as Minerva handed the box of potions to Filius. Snape attempted to pull his hand away as Winky reached for him, but he was clearly very weak and she seized him firmly then grasped Filius by the hand. They vanished with a pop.  
  
‘Good,’ Minerva said briskly, ‘how long before the Aurors get here?’  
  
‘They’re coming this morning, hence the urgency.’  
  
‘Tell an elf to strip this room, ensure that there’s no hint of Professor Snape’s presence and send his possessions to Winky.’ Draco nodded and snapped his fingers. Minerva stared out of the window as he gave terse directions to the elf, then she turned back to him with a grim smile. ‘Your hospitality seems a little lacking, Mr Malfoy; I have not yet had breakfast. I also take you up on your previous invitation. I wish Mr Potter to accompany me, and if I make a suggestion, also invite the invaluable Miss Granger.’  
  
Draco Malfoy’s grey eyes narrowed.  
  
‘They won’t come.’  
  
‘I think you’ll find that they will.’  
  
‘The last time they were here…’ Draco took in a deep breath, ‘Granger was tortured by my aunt.’  
  
‘All the more reason to invite them; you can apologise, can’t you?’  
  
‘To complete my humiliation? Thank you, no.’ There was the spirit she had hoped for, there was the Malfoy pride, although it was a shame that his resentment switched off his ability to strategize.  
  
‘Really, Mr Malfoy? Not even to ensure that your possessions remain undamaged and that the entire Wizarding world becomes aware that people are being arrested and held without trial simply because they were sorted a certain way at the age of eleven? I very much doubt that Miss Granger will approve of that, and Miss Granger can currently do little wrong in the eyes of the public.’  
  
‘She hates me,’ he said and managed a half-hearted sneer.  
  
‘But she won, and winning tends to make people magnanimous. Besides, Mr Potter tells me that both you and your mother saved his life, and he has some sympathy for you. Having your home taken over by the Dark Lord can’t have been a picnic. Mr Malfoy, at this point, what do you have to lose?’  
  
Draco gave a little snort. ‘Very well, call them if you want. Dilly! Lay the table for breakfast in the small breakfast room.’ He walked to the doorway, but halted and turned back. ‘What did Severus say to you? He refused to speak to me at all.’  
  
‘He told me to fuck off.’ She took far too much pleasure in seeing Draco Malfoy’s jaw drop in astonishment.  
  
oooOOOooo  
  
Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley appeared on the doorstep with resolute expressions. Harry’s arms were crossed on his chest, while Hermione stood behind him, breathing fast and with her hands clenched at her sides. Ron loomed protectively, wand in hand.  
  
‘Oh for Merlin’s sake, come on in,’ Draco snapped, yanking the door wide, ‘I’m hardly going to restore my reputation by murdering you in front of the Headmistress, am I?’  
  
It was, oddly, the right thing to say. Harry gave a little snort and he relaxed subtly, his companions taking their cue from him as they stepped inside.  
  
‘Mr Malfoy invited you at my suggestion,’ Minerva said briskly, coming forward to greet them. ‘In a spirit of reconciliation and so forth.’  
  
‘Why are the elves so agitated?’ Hermione asked, her eyes narrowed.  
  
‘My mother was taken to the Ministry,’ Draco told her, ‘Unfortunately a number of items were destroyed during the Aurors’ visit and I felt it advisable to secure the remaining antiques before further accidents occurred.’  
  
‘Why was your mother arrested?’ Harry asked.  
  
‘Where’s your father?’ Ron demanded, his voice hostile.  
  
‘My father is in Azkaban and I have no idea where or why my mother was taken,’ Draco said sharply, ‘probably for allowing the Dark Lord to reside here; I’m not privy to that information.’  
  
‘That isn’t right!’ Hermione’s protest was echoed by Harry, and although Ron did not say anything, his posture softened. ‘If the Aurors are arresting people and holding them without charge or legal representation, they’re just as bad as the Death Eaters!’  
  
‘Your mother saved my life,’ Harry said firmly. ‘Did she ever take the Dark Mark?’  
  
‘No. Aunt Bella tried to force her but she refused. Mother got away with it because it was far more important that the Dark Lord had Father’s loyalty.’  
  
‘He needed the Malfoy money,’ Ron said.  
  
Draco paused for a moment, gazing at him, and then he shrugged. ‘Yes. He needed our house and our money.’  
  
‘That’s why he needed you and your mother here, Draco,’ Hermione said gently, ‘so that he still had control over the Malfoy holdings even if your father failed him.’  
  
‘Who did you speak to at the Ministry, about your mother?’ Harry asked.  
  
‘I would prefer to continue this discussion over breakfast,’ Minerva remarked, at which Draco nodded and indicated a distant doorway. They followed him into a small room overlooking a terrace, where an elf waited beside a side table stocked with dishes, urns and cups. Minerva detected Narcissa’s hand in the pretty crockery and the pale, elegant draperies.  
  
It seemed that she was destined to go without her breakfast. The elf was pouring tea into her cup when there was a bang from the direction of the front door and a loud male voice demanded ‘Elf, get your master out here at once!’  
  
‘Or else,’ another voice added for emphasis.  
  
‘Sirs, my master is having breakfasts with his guests,’ the elf squeaked, then yelped. Harry, Ron and Hermione got to their feet and faced the doorway with their wands out. Minerva raised an eyebrow at Draco, who had the grace to incline his head in acknowledgement. Minerva sipped her tea.  
  
‘I don’t care if he’s shagging a Hippogriff, where is he?’  
  
‘I’m in here,’ Draco called, ‘kindly stop bullying my elves.’  
  
There was a crash and heavy footsteps approached the breakfast room. The first Auror came to a sudden halt and the rest of them piled into him, swearing.  
  
‘Adamus Hastings,’ Minerva mused, putting down her cup. ‘A Ravenclaw, I recollect. Bradley Fortescue and Darius Waring, Gryffindor. Theodora Splink, Hufflepuff. Have you a warrant for the arrest of Mr Malfoy? Or is this your normal _modus operandi_?’  
  
Harry took a step back, Hermione and Ron copying him a heart-beat later. Minerva appreciated the way in which the Golden Trio acknowledged her command of the situation while drawing attention to the fact that they were still there, wands at the ready.  
  
‘He’s a Slytherin,’ Hastings said, brow wrinkled in bafflement. ‘The Dark Lord lived here, for Merlin’s sake! The whole family’s into Dark magic up to their necks.’  
  
‘Do you have proof that Draco did anything illegal?’ Hermione demanded.  
  
‘Didn’t you hear me, Miss? The Dark Lord lived here!’  
  
‘Draco would have survived about twenty minutes if he’d tried throw him out,’ Harry remarked, ‘and nineteen of them would have involved screaming while Voldemort explained to his parents exactly why Draco was dying so horribly.’  
  
‘Look, Potter, we’re all very grateful for what you did but you need to leave the clean-up to the professionals.’  
  
The words ‘red rag’ and ‘bull’ went through Minerva’s mind as she buttered a slice of toast, and then she was able to admire how much Harry, Hermione and even Ron had grown up. Harry deliberately put away his wand, folded his arms and walked to face Hastings, tipping back his head a little to stare up into the tall Auror’s face. His anger was no longer an adolescent’s bluster but a controlled force that pushed at the air like a magical wind. Hermione and Ron stood a pace behind him.  
  
‘The professionals,’ Harry mused, his voice cold, ‘really? Where were the _professionals_ when I walked out to face Voldemort? What’s so _professional_ about arresting people without legal representation, holding them without explanation, imprisoning them without trial, invading their homes without a warrant and smashing their possessions? I’d love to leave this to the _professionals_ but so far, you’ve shown as much professionalism as the Snatchers! Hermione, can you do me a favour?’  
  
‘Of course, Harry.’ She stepped to his side, her wand high.  
  
‘Send a patronus to Luna, asking if she’d like to put this story on the front page of the Quibbler, would you? Then we’ll have a word with Kingsley.’  
  
‘Just a minute, Potter –‘  
  
‘Auror Hastings,’ Ron remarked, ‘you’re a plonker. You’re making Harry angry and you really, really don’t want to do that.’  
  
Hastings’ underlings grabbed him by the arms and pulled him back with unseemly haste. Minerva could hear them arguing until they Apparated away. She swallowed the last bite of her toast and got to her feet.  
  
‘Thank you for breakfast, Mr Malfoy. I shall be at Hogwarts over the summer, do visit at your convenience to discuss the situation.’  
  
Draco very nearly smiled. ‘Thank you, Headmistress, I’ll do that.’  
  
She nodded and strode out with her head high, flanked by her three Gryffindors.

oooOOOooo  
  
On reflection, Minerva would have been slightly disappointed if the Trio had taken the situation at face value. As soon as they had Apparated to the gates of Hogwarts, they faced her. Hermione appeared slightly apologetic, Harry was curious but Minerva could not decode Ron’s expression.  
  
‘Thank you for your help,’ she said, ‘Mr Malfoy must be grateful for your intervention.’  
  
‘I can understand you wanting to build bridges, Professor,’ Harry remarked, ‘but why Malfoy?’  
  
‘He’d do anything to protect his parents,’ Hermione said thoughtfully, ‘but why come here first?’  
  
‘Asking Gryffindors for help must be a last resort,’ Harry said, ‘for a Slytherin, it’s a matter of pride. So what’s he up to?’  
  
‘Protecting his parents, as Miss Granger pointed out,’ Minerva said briskly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do –‘  
  
‘He wasn’t,’ Ron stated. They all looked at him. ‘Protecting his parents, I mean.’  
  
‘Ah,’ Harry said, nodding. ‘Go on, Ron.’  
  
‘If it was a chess match, he’s lost two major pieces but he’s still protecting his king.’  
  
‘His father?’ Harry asked dubiously.  
  
Hermione gave a gasp. ‘Of course not! Harry, who’s the only Slytherin whom Draco would ever ask Professor McGonagall to help? The only one whom he could guarantee that she _would_ help?’  
  
‘The king is dead,’ Harry said with a snort, ‘long live the king of Slytherin. Shack burned down in the battle, no portrait, the cunning bastard’s still alive, isn’t he?’  
  
‘Snape,’ Ron said, with resignation.  
  
‘Snape,’ Hermione agreed.  
  
‘Snape,’ Harry breathed, wonder in his voice.  
  
‘Professor Snape,’ Minerva corrected them, hiding her amusement.  
  
‘Headmaster Snape,’ Harry said, meeting her gaze with something of a challenge.  
  
‘I shall let him know that you referred to him as a “cunning bastard”, Mr Potter.’  
  
‘I’ll tell the cunning bastard myself.’  
  
Minerva sighed. ‘Not yet, I’m afraid. He’s very, very sick, I suspect that the road to recovery will be long and arduous, and I won’t have him distressed.’  
  
‘We owe him,’ Harry stated.  
  
‘Of course, and so do I. I owe him peace and quiet in which to recover, and Hogwarts owes him the safety of her walls.’  
  
‘That’s not so dependable, with the wards gone,’ Hermione said dubiously.  
  
‘Will you three help us to rebuild them?’  
  
The Trio traded looks that Minerva could not decipher. Not only were they now adults, but they were battle-honed and self-sufficient in a way that almost awed her.  
  
‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘As long as you let us share the responsibility of protecting him.’  
  
‘Are you prepared to share that particular honour with Draco Malfoy?’  
  
They surprised her again by nodding, without even consulting each other.  
  
‘Muggles learned the folly of stamping on their enemies after they’d been defeated,’ Hermione said. ‘Germany was defeated and heavily penalised after World War I, the result was World War II. Slytherins need to be encouraged to take their rightful place in society, not ostracised again. Professor Snape and Professor Slughorn are the acceptable faces of Slytherin, and people like Draco and Millicent and Blaise and Pansy will follow them, given half a chance.’  
  
‘Pansy betrayed Harry in the Great Hall,’ Ron pointed out.  
  
‘She was terrified,’ Harry said, as if it no longer mattered. ‘We’ve had too many people punished their entire lives for doing daft things as kids, haven’t we?’  
  
Minerva sensed a subtle rebuke but decided to ignore it.  
  
‘Come back to Hogwarts when you can and we’ll discuss the situation,’ she said.  
  
oooOOOooo  
  
‘They left me lying in a pool of blood.’ Even Snape’s voiceless whisper sounded grumpy.  
  
‘So you wanted Harry to give up his fight against Voldemort at the very last hurdle in order to attempt to save you? An attempt which would have failed, of course, as he has little medical training or knowledge. You wanted all the sacrifices to suddenly be cast aside, all the deaths,’ she paused and added wickedly, ‘Lily’s death? Albus’ death?’ His glare was very nearly back to full strength, she noted with satisfaction. ‘He would like to see you, when you’re up to it.’  
  
‘I’ll never be “up to it”,’ he mouthed.  
  
‘He’s very persistent. If I was you, I’d get it out of the way while you’re still weak, you’ll have an excuse to make it a short visit. For Merlin’s sake, Severus, he wants to thank you! Be a Slytherin and use his influence! He and Miss Granger have already forced the Ministry to release Narcissa Malfoy and give a full pardon to Draco.’  
  
Snape’s eyebrows shot high on his forehead.  
  
‘And Lucius?’  
  
‘He’s still in Azkaban but the Dementors have been banished. After Miss Granger dragged half the Wizengamot members there, conditions have improved dramatically, especially in the wing where people are held awaiting trial.’  
  
‘Miss Know-it-all strikes again.’  
  
‘So use her influence before it wanes. You know what the press is like, the golden glow invariably tarnishes.’  
  
He raised a hand and waved it in a gesture of acquiescence.  
  
‘Very well. If you’ll stop bullying me.’  
  
Minerva snorted.  
  
‘And don’t you bully Harry, either. He’s been through so much – and yes, I know you have too, and for so much longer, but that doesn’t make it right.’  
  
To her astonishment, his thin fingers reached to where her hand rested upon the arm of her chair and squeezed briefly.  
  
‘I should be dead, Minerva.’ He gave the ghost of his old supercilious smirk. ‘But so should Potter. Don’t expect us to bond over it.’  
  
‘Merlin forbid! A wary truce will be fine. He’s coming next Thursday to start rebuilding the wards, shall I tell him that he can call on you then?’  
  
He managed a sneer at that.  
  
‘You really expect him to achieve such advanced charm-work?’  
  
‘Of course not, not unaided, anyway. The press will be here to record the event.’  
  
‘Who will be rebuilding…’ he paused, overtaken by a painful fit of coughing, and Minerva helped him to raise his head and sip at a glass of water.  
  
‘Filius and Kingsley Shacklebolt for Ravenclaw; myself and Mr Potter, for Gryffindor; Pomona Sprout and Aubrey Braithwaite for Hufflepuff and for Slytherin, in your absence, Horace will be assisted by Narcissa Malfoy.’ She stood up. ‘You and I will both retain all the privileges of the Headship until the governors have reached a formal decision or one of us resigns.’  
  
‘Narcissa is very experienced with wards,’ he acknowledged.  
  
‘She volunteered. She and Draco would like to visit you. Shall I tell them that you’ll see them?  
  
‘Of course.’ He closed his eyes and she patted his hand, knowing how much it would annoy him.  
  
‘I’ll tell them to come after Harry’s visit, to give you something to look forward to.’  
  
Poppy Pomfrey, approaching with a tray of clean bandages and topical potions, was most taken aback to see his lips clearly form the words ‘Fuck off, McGonagall,’ and to hear her respond with a gurgle of laughter.  
  
oooOOOooo  
  
Propped up against pillows, his hair clean and caught back with a strip of bandage to prevent it from catching in the dressings on his neck, Snape looked unnervingly small. Minerva had been guilty of deliberately forgetting the skinny little Slytherin who had clashed so often with her golden cubs. He had grown up into something akin to a force of nature, sweeping about the castle; it was so much more comfortable to think of him as a powerful adult wizard when he came to her room late at night. Now, stripped by illness and exhaustion, thin as a rake, his fire burned down to smouldering embers, he reminded her uncomfortably of the sullen teen whom she and Albus had almost given up as a hopeless case.  
  
‘Potter,’ he mouthed in greeting, his dark eyes hooded by lowered lids.  
  
‘Professor,’ Harry said, and Minerva realised that she had put her faith in the wrong man. She had hoped to convince Snape to be the adult and there was no need. There was compassion in Harry’s eyes as he sat down in the chair beside the bed. ‘Thanks for agreeing to see me.’  
  
‘No choice,’ Snape breathed, and Harry grinned.  
  
‘Probably not, but I won’t bother you for long. I’m sorry for doubting you and I want to thank you for all you did. I owe you.’  
  
‘No, Potter, you don’t. You were supposed to doubt me,’ he paused, breathing steadily for a moment, before adding, ‘You destroyed Him. That cancels every debt in the world.’  
  
Harry waited. This, more than anything, told Minerva how much the young man had matured. Snape fully opened his eyes. ‘I sent you to your death.’  
  
‘Only after walking to your own.’  
  
‘I am not a hero.’  
  
‘No,’ said Harry, ‘but neither am I. Would you like your memories back?’  
  
Snape gave a tiny shrug, then winced as the movement pulled on his wounds. Harry nodded. ‘Good, we’ll need them as evidence in your court case.’  
  
‘Malfoy,’ Snape mouthed.  
  
‘Which one? I doubt if we can do much for Lucius and to be honest, I don’t really want to. Draco and Narcissa are free now – oh, yes, I see. Draco’s already recommended a barrister.’  
  
Snape closed his eyes. ‘Good.’  
  
‘I’ll call in and let you know what’s happening.’  
  
‘I can’t wait.’  
  
Harry snorted. ‘Are you always this sarcastic about everything?’  
  
‘What would you do if I told you to fuck off?’  
  
Minerva held her breath. After a pause, Harry said thoughtfully, ‘what I always did when you told me what to do, I suppose.’ He got to his feet, a lithe, slender young man in Muggle jeans and a scruffy robe.  
  
‘You never took any bloody notice.’  
  
‘Yeah, you’ve got it.’  
  
Snape feigned sleep until he left. Oddly enough, when Draco and Narcissa arrived, he seemed positively animated.  
  
oooOOOooo  
  
‘I can’t go back to what we had between us, Minerva.’ He had his voice back now, although it was still muted and rasping. When she glanced up from the staff rota on her knee, he looked away. She had expected to broach the subject; it was something of a relief to have him approach it first.  
  
Their relationship could never return to what it had been; each had sought comfort from the other, amid loss, danger and darkness, and now the world had changed. Minerva knew that she no longer possessed the energy to deal with his temperament. She had a school to rebuild and the last thing she needed after a day at the coal-face was a cantankerous young lover with low self-esteem and a history of offering capricious deference to more powerful wizards. He had, after all, betrayed one master and murdered the other. Both masters had been ruthless in using him, and she feared that she would use him too, even if their aims coincided. He should be wanted for himself, not for what he could do.  
  
‘Of course not. That was a result of wartime, limited options and a need to associate only with those whom we could trust. Besides…’ she cocked her head, her quick mind putting together disparate snippets of information and conjecture, ‘Severus, are you bent?’  
  
He blushed rather unbecomingly, red blotches blooming on his sallow cheeks.  
  
‘The preferred term is “gay”, I believe.’  
  
The lack of denial only confirmed what she had suspected, and Minerva’s anger must have shown upon her face. His black eyes turned cold and emotionless.  
  
‘If it distresses you that much –‘  
  
‘I insist that you answer one question.’  
  
His wand was in his hand now.  
  
‘Is this the limit of how much you trust me?’  
  
‘Did he abuse you?’ She got to her feet. ‘Did Dumbledore take advantage of you?’  
  
He stared up at her, shock blowing his pupils wide and allowing emotion to return to his eyes. ‘Take advantage of me? Between them, Albus and the Dark Lord owned me, body and soul! They knew about my sexuality but the Dark Lord was heterosexual and Albus was asexual by the end. They raped my mind; I might have preferred it the other way, but neither used me sexually. Do sit down, I’ve a crick in my neck.’  
  
Minerva returned to her chair. They were in the Head’s sitting room, away from the always- inquisitive portraits.  
  
‘Shacklebolt owled me today,’ Snape remarked. Minerva did not object to the change of subject, glad that he felt comfortable enough to remain in the room with her. ‘I’ve a date for my court case in the first week of September.’  
  
‘First you’re going to take up Miss Lovegood’s offer of an interview, I hope?’  
  
Snape sighed theatrically. ‘I’ve little choice, with Harry bloody Potter on my case.’  
  
‘Harry “bloody” Potter intends to keep you out of Azkaban,’ she pointed out.  
  
‘I wish I knew why,’ he muttered.  
  
‘Severus! Why do you think? He owes you, we all do!’  
  
‘He should be getting on with his life,’ Snape said irritably, ‘marrying his little red-head, spawning more Potters, becoming an Auror or playing Quidditch or writing his autobiography. Why is he doing this?’  
  
‘He told me that if you go down, then so does he.’  
  
‘What did he mean by that?’  
  
‘If you’re imprisoned for murdering Albus, then he should be imprisoned for murdering Voldemort, not to mention that Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom should be arrested for bringing down Greyback, Filius for Dolohov, Molly for Bellatrix, and almost everyone else present at the battle for attempted murder. Horace, Kingsley and I seriously tried to murder Voldemort.’  
  
‘You must have been mad,’ Snape groaned, ‘he could have killed all of you!’  
  
‘We were fighting for our lives and for what we believed in.’  
  
‘So was the Dark Lord.’  
  
‘So were all the Slytherins and that’s Harry’s point, isn’t it? There can’t be one rule for Slytherins and another for the rest. If you’d been a Ravenclaw, no-one would be trying to take you to court. If Draco had been a Hufflepuff, people would be sympathetic rather than condemning him for his parents’ bad decisions.’  
  
‘You’ve been listening to Granger.’  
  
‘Is that such a bad thing? Come along, Severus, you’ve been cast in the role of misunderstood spy and hero, it’s only Slytherin to ride the wave of popularity.’  
  
‘I’m too tired to make the effort.’  
  
‘Then isn’t it a good thing that you have Harry, Hermione and Luna to do it for you?’  
  
The corner of his lip twitched into a smirk. ‘Minerva, fuck off.’  
  
‘That’s more like it. Are you allowed a whisky yet or will it interfere with your potions regime?’  
  
‘Probably, but I’ll live with it.’ He watched as she summoned the Lagavulin and two glasses and poured them each a small measure.  
  
‘You’ve a lot of people on your side, Severus.’  
  
‘That still doesn’t make me anything but a – what did Potter call me? A cunning bastard?’  
  
‘It was said with a degree of admiration, I feel.’  
  
Snape grunted and accepted his drink. ‘Merlin forbid,’ he said, taking a sip. Minerva hid her smile behind her glass.  
  
oooOOOooo  
  
‘I don’t want to owe him,’ Snape said. He sounded petulant and exhausted, his voice strained after a full day in court. ‘I’m sick of owing Potters. Why couldn’t he have left it to that mad Lovegood girl or his tame swot?’  
  
‘I cannot believe that you’ve just been presented with a full pardon and an Order of Merlin, First Class, and you’re still complaining,’ Poppy scolded him, handing him a throat-soothing potion. He swallowed the foul-smelling stuff without even a grimace and gave back the empty vial.  
  
‘But Potter, standing up there and giving what sounded like a eulogy, desperate for applause –‘  
  
‘He wasn’t desperate for applause, Severus, he was desperate to save you!’ Minerva snapped.  
‘You’re free, you’ve got the press and the public on your side, what more do you want? Now get into bed and eat your supper before I get cross and give you a jolly good smack!’  
  
‘So go away and let me get undressed, you bossy witch!’  
  
‘We’re going to raise the wards next Sunday,’ Minerva remarked, turning her back to allow him the privacy to change into his nightshirt. ‘Filius considers that even if it doesn’t work the first time, we’ll gain sufficient information to make the following attempt successful. The anti-Muggle charms have all taken, fortunately.’  
  
‘I’ll be there.’  
  
‘You’re not well enough for such a long and sustained casting – ‘Poppy began, but Snape spoke over her, with a fierce determination that made his voice rasp. ‘I am still the Headmaster of this school.’ More softly, he added, ‘I shan’t take part, but I hold the wards and it is my responsibility, along with Minerva, to ensure that Hogwarts is fully protected.’  
  
‘Very well, dear, but no exhausting yourself or you’ll have both Minerva and me to answer to.’  
  
‘Oh for Merlin’s sake,’ he muttered, but there was a subtle warmth underlying the rumble of his hoarse baritone. ‘This is like living with a pair of broody hens.’  
  
‘Rest your voice and eat your supper, Severus, there’s a good lad.’ Minerva grinned wickedly and dodged the wandless stinging hex that crackled towards her. Poppy rolled her eyes.  
  
oooOOOooo  
  
The participants formed a circle in the Great Hall, Minerva between Harry Potter and Narcissa Malfoy. Narcissa had spent the last few weeks reinstalling the wards of Malfoy Manor, while Kingsley Shacklebolt had been responsible for the replacement wards at the Ministry of Magic. With them stood Horace Slughorn, Pomona Sprout, the new Potions master, Aubrey Braithwaite, and the director of the operation, Filius Flitwick. His instincts for charms together with his experience as deputy head, meant that no-one argued when Minerva asked him to take charge of the raising of Hogwarts’ mighty wards. Snape sat upon the staff dais, giving him a clear view of the circle, in his old seat at the end of the long table. Draco, Hermione, Ron and the remaining Hogwarts staff clustered near the back of the hall together with Luna Lovegood and a reporter from the _Daily Prophet_.  
  
‘Right, everyone,’ Filius said in his amiable, high little voice, ‘remember, this is strongly defensive magic, so if it helps, imagine that you are personally under threat – not too hard to visualise in this hall, alas. Starting with you, Horace, please cast your _Protego_ charm. Severus, when you’re ready, run the diagnostics.’  
  
Snape sent a flare hex at Slughorn’s shield charm, resulting in a burst of red fire.  
  
‘Twelve,’ Snape said, indicating the strength of the shield.  
  
‘Narcissa?’  
  
‘Ten.’  
  
‘Pomona?’  
  
‘Eleven.’  
  
‘Aubrey?’  
  
‘Ten.’  
  
‘Kingsley?’  
  
‘Fourteen.’ Minerva noticed the admiring glances from the audience and smiled to herself.  
  
‘Minerva?’  
  
‘Fourteen.’ There was an audible gasp from the direction of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.  
  
‘Myself,’ Filius said with a flourish of his wand.  
  
‘Fifteen,’ Snape said, laconically, while glaring at his colleague through narrowed eyes.  
  
‘Go on, Harry,’ Filius urged. Harry appeared uncomfortable with the attention, then shrugged, turning away from the circle. Minerva expected him to look to where Voldemort had perished on the floor, but instead Harry glanced up at the dais, not towards his friends, but to where Snape sat scowling. He cast his shield, holding it with admirable precision while Snape sighted along his wand, cast the hex and blinked at the resulting flare of bright orange light.  
  
‘Eighteen,’ Snape rasped. ‘Celebrity show-off.’  
  
Harry twitched his wand, cutting off the shield, and burst out laughing.  
  
‘I knew you’d say that!’  
  
‘That shield,’ Ron Weasley called out, ‘Snape, are you listening? Harry’s shield kept Voldemort from cursing my Mum after she’d killed Bellatrix. Just saying.’  
  
There was a moment of silence, then through it came Harry’s voice, very quiet. ‘That’s Headmaster Snape, Ron.’ He gave a little dip of his head in Snape’s direction.  
  
‘You’ll cast the overarching shield, Harry,’ Filius said, bustling forward and breaking the tension. ‘Look, here’s the charm you’ll need to anchor everything. With Severus out of action, I was expecting to cast it myself but by Merlin, you’ll create a wonderful ward!’  
  
‘What’s Professor Snape’s score?’ Harry enquired, flicking a quick peek to where Snape was now deliberately ignoring him, speaking with Professor Vector about the Arithmantic equations underlying the wards.  
  
‘Oh, seventeen, he’s amazingly focussed. Albus of course was the last person to anchor the wards, being an eighteen like you. Well, isn’t this simply marvellous?’  
  
‘Professor Snape doesn’t seem to think so,’ Harry muttered.  
  
‘Don’t worry about Severus,’ Minerva said, patting Harry on the shoulder. ‘He’s just sulking because he’s not allowed to take part. He does so enjoy wielding powerful magic.’  
  
‘After the wards are raised, Harry will need to hand them over within a couple of minutes,’ Kingsley’s voice rumbled behind them. ‘Otherwise they’ll remain tied to him.’  
  
‘I’ll show you, Harry,’ Filius assured him. ‘It’s quite straight-forward. Hold out your wand like so – that’s it. Now, Minerva will press the tip of her wand to yours. Can you feel her magic? To me, Minerva’s aura feels like stroking a cat, soft fur over a steely strength.’  
  
To Minerva, Harry’s magic had always seemed bright and warm. She imagined it as golden sunshine, but now it had grown as powerful as a fire constrained in a furnace. She wondered what it would be like unleashed, and shivered.  
  
‘I get it,’ Harry said cheerfully. ‘I need to let go of the wards as soon as I can feel Professor McGonagall’s magic. What about Professor Snape?’  
  
Hearing his name, Snape stepped down from the dais and walked towards them. He was wearing sweeping black robes, and if his gliding gait took just slightly more effort than of old, no-one dreamed of mentioning it.  
  
‘Harry needs to get a feel for your magic so that he can hand over the wards,’ Filius said.  
  
‘If Potter doesn’t know what my magic is like by now, I have singularly failed in my duty.’  
  
‘I was always too busy defending myself against it,’ Harry pointed out with Gryffindor candour. Snape sneered but raised his wand.  
  
Minerva saw the spark that formed as the tips of their wands converged. She realised that their magic clashed, because Snape could not accept that Harry was without ulterior motive. Snape’s power was primed to defend him at the first hint of insubordination on Harry’s part, resisting any contact between them. Minerva had always envisioned Snape’s magic as flowing water, powerful and hiding dark depths that she preferred not to investigate, but now it was drawn close to him, a presence as coiled and dangerous as the serpent that had almost ended his life.  
  
Harry waited as if confronting a flighty hippogriff, calm but poised. She saw something change, his expression and his body language opened out, and she understood that he had lowered every shield that he had, not just Occlumency but the instinctive hold that binds magic to the body of its originator. Filius opened his mouth to speak but Minerva held up her hand to prevent interruption. Slowly, warily, Snape’s posture loosened and his white-knuckled grip eased on the handle of his wand.  
  
‘Smooth and cool,’ Harry breathed, ‘and under brilliant control! No wonder you’re so good at potions!’  
  
Snape tucked his wand away in his belt. ‘Thank you for that commendation, Potter, I shall treasure it. You, on the other hand, are far too trusting.’  
  
Harry faced him with his head high. ‘I only trust the people worth trusting. Shall we get on with these wards, then?’  
  
Minerva would remember for the rest of her life, standing amid the swirling multicolours of the shield charms, watching as Harry Potter cast the vast, opalescent _Protego_ that bound them together and forced them out to cover the entire castle and its grounds. She felt the newly forged wards slide from the tip of his wand to her own, and shivered as his power prickled over her skin upon its little cat-feet, and knew that she had felt only a fraction of his magic. Then Severus Snape stepped forwards and the shields coruscated and coalesced as Hogwarts accepted its true Headmaster, and the wards pulled at her wand like living things, and the connection only remained with her at all because both Snape and Harry willed it.  
  
Minerva felt insubstantial, as if she occupied far more space than her physical body, her magic shaken loose from her grasp. The heat of Harry’s power brushed up against her own with a crackle of static, and Snape’s awesome strength slid cool and sleek upon her left. She reached out and felt Harry’s respectful fondness for her, and Snape’s astringent affection with its residual undercurrents of physical intimacy. Between Harry and Snape was a bond of such complexity that the surging emotions made her dizzy, but what startled her most were the similarities between them. Both carried guilt as heavy as stone, fading antagonism, burgeoning respect and a tenuous, young and barely acknowledged thread of yearning.  
  
She gathered her magic back where it belonged, a deliberate change of state not unlike the Animagus transformation, almost instinctive to a witch accustomed to altering her form on a regular basis. It took longer for Snape and Harry to recover, while around them, their audience chattered excitedly, oblivious to that final moment of connection. All she could think was that they were magnificent, both of them, and that she had just shared a rare moment of recognition and revelation with the two most powerful wizards alive.  
  
oooOOOooo  
  
‘Are you ready to negotiate yet, Severus?’ she asked, setting the folder of staff contracts on her lap.  
  
‘I will never again be headmaster,’ he said, glowering.  
  
‘I expected you to refuse,’ Minerva retorted, ‘after the year you had. Besides, I’ve done most of the work and I intend to reap the rewards! I’ve spoken with Filius and he’s more than happy to relinquish the position of deputy head in your favour. He intends to retire within three years anyway.’  
  
‘Oh very well.’ Snape tossed aside his journal. ‘I see you’ve taken on that nincompoop Braithwaite to teach potions and Snetterton for DADA, what does that leave me, apart from head of Slytherin?’  
  
‘Aubrey will be helping with the new Muggle studies curriculum, being a Muggle-born, and Editha Snetterton will be head of Gryffindor. I thought you might like to teach both subjects at NEWT level and leave the OWL level and the younger years to them.’  
  
It was not often that she was able to take the wind out of his sails. He stared at her for a while.  
  
‘That’s very generous.’  
  
‘You’re a war hero, it will be a point in our favour to keep you on staff. Even better, if I could only convince young Miss Granger to join us…’  
  
He snorted. ‘As Potter and Weasley are now trainee Aurors despite never having taken their NEWTs, why shouldn’t their friend get a free pass into teaching?’  
  
‘I suspect that Hermione has her sights set upon the Ministry. As for Harry, would you prefer to fight with him at your back, or rely upon a successful academic such as, oh, Percy Weasley? Harry has an instinctive feel for magic, don’t you agree?’ Snape shifted uncomfortably and she laughed. ‘Go on, Severus, I promise never to tell anyone if you say something positive about Harry. He’s developing into a spectacularly powerful wizard.’  
  
‘His mother was a spectacularly clever and powerful witch,’ Snape acknowledged. ‘Even if his father was a spectacular twat.’  
  
‘We were talking about Harry,’ she said with a subtle rebuke in her tone.  
  
Snape shrugged. ‘Very well, have it your way. His shield charm is massive, even if that is the result of brute force and ignorance rather than finesse.’  
  
‘The Auror trainees will be undertaking master classes with visiting tutors; I recommended you and Filius so there’s your opportunity to teach him finesse.’  
  
His glare would have melted her spectacles, had she not had almost two decades in which to develop an immunity.  
  
oooOOOooo  
  
By Halloween, Hogwarts was up and running, staff and students settling into their new academic routine. Perhaps it was habit that sent Snape away immediately after the feast, down the hill into Hogsmeade and the dubious pleasures of the Hog’s Head. Certainly it was habit that sent Minerva after him, coupled with the rather satisfying knowledge that Professor Snetterton was now responsible for Gryffindor house. She slipped into her old seat at the old table.  
  
‘Fuck off, McGonagall.’  
  
‘Fuck off yourself, Snape.’ Distracted by the fact that he was drinking mead instead of whisky, she was only alerted to the presence of another person in the corner by a gasp. Startled green eyes met her own, then Harry Potter poured her a glass of Aberforth’s home-made heather-honey mead and handed it over.  
  
‘Professor McGonagall, hello.’  
  
‘Good evening, Harry. Let’s dispense with the formality, do call me “Minerva”.’  
  
‘No,’ Snape growled, ‘that means he’ll want to call me “Severus”.’  
  
‘We are drinking together,’ Harry pointed out. ‘You’re no longer my professors. I’ve got to ask, do you often tell each other to, um, fuck off?’  
  
‘It’s a tradition,’ Minerva said primly, while Snape muttered ‘Only in times of crisis or inebriation.’  
  
‘Were there a lot of those?’ Harry enquired, attempting to look innocent despite a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘I mean, I get it that you two are…’ he waved a hand between them, and Minerva realised that Harry had already been at the mead before she had arrived. Snape rolled his eyes and muttered ‘Gryffindors’ in a snide voice.  
  
‘Were,’ Minerva corrected him, ‘we were, but no longer.’  
  
Snape gave a look that took a moment to interpret, a combination of fondness and exasperation. She had not yet grown accustomed to the newfound eloquence of his black eyes, compared with the wartime years of Occlumency that had maintained them in a state of blank coldness.  
  
‘What are you doing here, anyway, Potter?’ Snape asked, topping up his mead from the jug.  
  
‘Same as you.’ Harry said, leaning back in his chair and stuffing his hands into his pockets. ‘I’m having a quiet Halloween drink.’ He glanced at Snape through his messy fringe, his green eyes sober. ‘Remembering what happened on a previous Halloween.’  
  
‘You’re too young to remember,’ Snape snapped and Harry simply gazed at him until Snape glanced away.  
  
‘I remember her screams,’ Harry said eventually, ‘every time I meet a Dementor, I hear her screaming. Don’t tell me what I can or can’t remember. She might have been your friend but she was my mother, and that memory was one of the few that I had. Until you gave me your memories of her and I’ll always be grateful for those.’  
  
‘I was…’ Snape’s voice caught in his throat and he took a sip of mead to clear it. ‘I was responsible for her _death_ , Potter!’  
  
‘You didn’t kill her,’ Harry said, ‘Voldemort did.’  
  
‘I don’t want your forgiveness,’ Snape whispered.  
  
‘Good, because you don’t have it.’ Harry leaned forward. ‘Dumbledore and Voldemort played us both like pawns and I can’t ever forgive either of them, even though I’ll miss the old headmaster till the end of my life, but you haven’t done anything that needs forgiving, have you? You snarled and threatened but you always defended us.’  
  
‘I am not a nice man.’  
  
‘I don’t think I am, either.’  
  
Snape snorted. ‘Oh come off it, Potter, you’re the Golden Boy Who Lived and can do no wrong.’  
  
‘I hate being famous and stared at, but I’ve found that setting Hermione and Luna onto people is far too much fun. By the way, Rita Skeeter wants to write your biography.’  
  
‘Merlin help me,’ Snape muttered, shuddering.  
  
‘Oh don’t worry, Luna says she’ll get her version out first.’  
  
‘That is hardly reassuring.’  
  
‘The difference is, Luna likes you.’  
  
‘She’s away with the fairies most of the time.’  
  
‘That’s an act,’ Minerva remarked, and Harry nodded. ‘The girl is wildly eccentric and rather gullible, but she has a fine brain and as Harry says, she likes you. She’ll do nothing to harm you.’  
  
‘Why didn’t I simply slide away into obscurity while I had the chance? Open an apothecary in the Shetlands?’  
  
‘Because you’ve lived in the centre, in the eye of the storm,’ Harry said, ‘and you’d miss Hogwarts and all your friends.’  
  
‘I certainly won’t miss spotty adolescents and their dramas and terrible handwriting and exploding cauldrons.’  
  
‘Which is why you’re teaching NEWT classes only from now on, so don’t whinge,’ Minerva pointed out. ‘Severus, you’re on a loser, we know you too well.’  
  
‘Fine. Go and buy another jug of mead before Aberforth drinks the rest of the barrel, you bossy Scottish witch.’  
  
‘Is that any way to speak to your Headmistress?’ She could hear Harry laughing as she made her way to the bar, and the smooth rumble of Snape’s baritone, and if her smile was slightly wistful, it was only because this was Halloween, laced with memories both good and bad.  
  
oooOOOooo  
  
With Hermione Granger choosing to complete her education at Hogwarts, together with others of her year including Neville Longbottom, the Patil twins, Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas, it was not surprising that Harry Potter became a regular weekend visitor. Perhaps his detours to the dungeons were a part of Miss Granger’s campaign to integrate the Slytherins into Wizarding society. More likely, Harry wanted to pick Snape’s brain for defensive spells and subtle potions.  
  
One Sunday, Minerva asked Harry if he and Ron wished to join Hermione at the final dinner before the Christmas holidays.  
  
‘I’ll be there,’ Harry told her, ‘just as long as you make sure that Professor Snape goes too.’  
  
‘He doesn’t enjoy that kind of thing.’  
  
‘Secretly, he does,’ Harry said thoughtfully, ‘he enjoys grousing about it. I hate the thought of him spending Christmas alone in that dingy little house of his or skulking in the dungeons.’  
  
‘I can’t force him to remain at Hogwarts,’ she pointed out, ‘not now he’s well enough to go where he pleases. Will you spend Christmas with the Weasleys?’  
  
Harry looked down at his shoes, a slight flush rising across his face. ‘No. Ginny and I broke up last month and it would be too awkward. I’ll call in on Christmas Eve but I won’t stay. What about you, Professor McGonagall?’  
  
‘I keep telling you to call me “Minerva”, Harry! I shall remain here, there are a number of students who have nowhere else to go, who lost family and homes, and I’d like to make the holiday as comfortable for them as I can.’  
  
His bright green gaze rose to her face. ‘Hey, that’s a brilliant idea!’  
  
‘I am not above using your influence for the good of Hogwarts. Would you care to attend?’  
  
‘How about inviting the Slytherins, Draco, Pansy, Millicent and the rest? And invite Professor Slughorn back, too, he can network to his heart’s content without any of the responsibilities.’  
  
‘An excellent suggestion! I intend to involve all the houses in everything from now on. If you are going down to the dungeon, perhaps you could invite Severus to support us, in his role as Head of Slytherin house?’  
  
Harry grinned at her. ‘Is that subtle enough to work on Slytherins?’  
  
‘Sometimes, Harry, it is most effective to simply hit them with a brick.’  
  
oooOOOooo  
  
Minerva was on her way to check that the elves were enjoying their own party in the kitchens when she heard the silky purr of Snape’s voice and almost missed the significance of his words. ‘The problem is that I remember you as a disobedient snotty-nosed brat.’  
  
‘And Minerva McGonagall remembers _you_ as a sulky greasy-haired swot but that didn’t seem to make any difference to either of you.’  
  
She held her breath, hoping to remain unobserved behind a Christmas tree. Behind her, the Great Hall buzzed with conversations and glowed with fairy lights and candles while leaving the corridor in shadow. The renovated ceiling and the windows were dark with impending snow.  
  
‘You will be reviled.’  
  
‘Been there, done it.’  
  
‘Your reputation will be ruined if you are exposed as a homosexual. ‘  
  
Harry gave a short huff of amusement. ‘It made no difference to Albus Dumbledore’s reputation and he had an affair with the Dark wizard Grindelwald, for God’s sake!’  
  
‘You’re not going to give in, are you?’  
  
‘When have I ever given in?’  
  
‘I refuse be owned by anyone ever again.’  
  
‘A good job I don’t want to own you, isn’t it?’  
  
‘Potter, what in Merlin’s name _do_ you want?’  
  
‘How about you calling me Harry? I really want you to call me Harry, you might stop mistaking me for my father if you did.’  
  
‘It is a long time,’ Snape murmured, his voice like silk whispering across steel, ‘since I mistook you for your father. I never wished to do _this_ with your father.’  
  
‘What about my mother?’  
  
Snape sighed heavily. ‘She was my first friend and my only friend for years. She was something bright and openly magical in a world of grey dreariness, she was everything that I coveted. I would have given anything to save her. Do you love Hermione Granger?’  
  
‘Of course, she’s one of my best friends. Yes, I get it. I’d never forgive myself if she’d died because of me.’  
  
‘Congratulations, Potter, a glimmer of understanding.’  
  
‘Stop being a sarcastic git, Snape.’  
  
‘If you stop being a dunderhead, Potter.’  
  
‘Fuck off, Severus!’  
  
‘Fuck off yourself, Harry.’  
  
Harry gave a burst of incredulous laughter. ‘You called me – ‘  
  
His voice was suddenly stifled, choked off into a hum that morphed into a brief, throaty groan.  
  
Minerva McGonagall indulged in a moment of nostalgia, remembering urgent kisses and the touch of deft fingers upon her skin, then she smiled. She had Christmas parties to oversee, a school to run and a whisky-bottle-shaped parcel in green and silver wrapping paper to open and share with her friends. All was well.

 

 


End file.
